Antiques and Adages
"Uh-huh." Riley replied, turning from the ramp to face Dorian. "He ain't here, and it's not my job to keep tabs on 'im, so I don't know when he'll be back. Let’s get it over with. What you need? I’ll relay the information when he gets back.” Dorian shrugged, then eased himself into a chair at the galley table. “Fair enough,” he said. Too bad there’s not a bottle around, he thought as the no nonsense expression on Riley’s face goaded him onward. “There’s a business opportunity we should discuss.” Riley leaned against the counter, folding her arms across her chest as she raised a curious eyebrow towards the ship’s doctor. “If it involves Mistress Lucretia, pass. As I’ve told you - what you do in your spare time is your business. If it involves anything else? I’m listening.” “Turns out,” Dorian began, “that tha hospital places a strong emphasis on teaching and new program development. They got all kinds of excited watchin’ tha capture of Lyen and Vas operatin’ on me. That played right inta their thinkin’ about a “bush doctah” program...givin’ boat medics tools and trainin’ tah practice better medicine on tha outer rim,” he continued. “Ere go, aftah a few conversations an’ one night’s practicum, they offered me a position.” Riley flinched playing it off as if there was an insect. Not that she’d blame the man, there were worse places to put down roots than Valentine, but Adler had become sort of a fixture on the ship. “Sounds like a good opportunity for a man such as yourself. You accept the offer?” “Ah did,” Dorian nodded, “but with a few caveats.” He took a brief sip from the glass. “They’re all set tah give me an office, lab time, a nice set ‘o’ rooms, and generally tha perks fah a precticin’ resident. Ah made a counter proposal that they accepted. With y’all’s permission, Ah remain aboard. Ah serve as yah medic, and yah dentist. We go on pretty much as we have. Tha difference,” Dorian said, “is tha fact that mah salary’s paid by tha hospital. Yah save on mah share,” he chuckled, ‘unless there’s a really big score and yah sense of fairness kicks in.” “What’s the catch?” She asked, visibly mulling it over. “I know the Captain, and he’s not going to be keen on being told where we’re going.” “Your boat, your rules,” Adler shrugged. “Here are tha catches. Tha infirmary’s bein’ fitted with more up tah date equipment. If our mechanic acts like himself an’ refuses, tha hospital will send along an engineer tah handle tha job. Next,” he fished in his vest pocket for the new cortex reader, “Ah’m required tah file case reports on all patients...primarily tah offer insight tah tha most common medical help required, or tah track a viral outbreak. No names, no ident,” he continued, “just ‘patient A from Boros’ is what they’re interested in. One final catch,” he offered, “is two crates stored in tha bay. Each contains tha same medical equipment they’re settin’ us up with...fah me tah issue tah other boat medics who want tah join tha program.” He drained the water glass. “That’s pretty much it,” Dorian finished. “Don’t suppose we’ve got whiskey floatin’ about?” “Crates. We don’t do well with crates.” Riley replied with a scowl as she dug out a bottle from behind the canned goods in a cabinet. The captain was nothing if not predictable about where he’d ‘hide’ his spirits. She slid the bottle across the table to him absently. “Between the Fed, the cop, and the mechanic…” The last gave her pause. “He won’t be an issue in regards to your - anything. But what’s the adage about something seeming too good to be true? You’re telling me their going to outfit the Veil with state of the art - not that she needs it - medical facilities, and pay your salary, in exchange for you dropping a crate off to some in-the-black medics, and … none of this is raising any flags for you?” Dorian smiled as he poured, then offered a glass to the pilot. “Ah conjure tha crates could be with us fah a spell,” he said. “If Ah meet a suitable candidate an’ get ‘em on board, then we hand one off.” The whiskey wasn’t top shelf, not even close, but today, the kind of fire it sent down his throat was exactly what the doctor ordered. “Of course yah can examine ‘em,” he nodded. “As tah examinin’ this gift horse’s teeth, Ah get what yah sayin...Ah tried tah negotiate a deal that most boat cap’ns would accept an’ would still benefit tha program. ‘Cept fah mah salary, tha rest is a write off fah them...a cheap way tah run a case study. Tha gear’s hardly state of tha art, but it’s a good deal newer than tha antiques we currently have.” Riley accepted the glass from him, nodding along, and taking a sip, content with his answers for the most part. “Antiques?” She asked, raising both eyebrows as well as her hackles, the pride of the ship at stake. Sure, the Lunar Veil wasn’t the most modern of the Firefly class, but the equipment it did boast was for the most part both of the century and in working order. “I’ll discuss it with the Captain. He may not be keen on hauling crates for months at a time.” Dorian offered his glass for an informal toast. “Then Ah’ll await y’all’s decision,” he responded amiably. “Regardless, it’s lovely tah see yah again, Riley.” Riley grunted her response, finishing the whiskey in her glass. She grimaced at the burn, and examined the bottle of the empty container. “Glad to hear we don’t need to clean out your cabin, Adler.”